I'll tell you my sins (so you can sharpen your knife)
by fadingtales
Summary: Olicity Hunger Games AU where Felicity is the tribute and Oliver is her mentor. Prompt from a tumblr request. Oneshot.


_**I'll tell you my sins (so you can sharpen your knife)**_

_A/N: Anon on tumblr requested: Olicity Hunger Games AU where Felicity is the tribute and Oliver is her mentor. Oneshot. Title from Hozier's Take Me To Church. This got much much longer than I originally anticipated, but it just snowballed out of my control. I hope you guys like it! Reviews are appreciated! =)_

The glamour of the Capitol is a lie. The other districts, all they see are the parties and the ball gowns and the lights. They don't see the grime beneath it all. They don't see people like Felicity Smoak. They're not supposed to. She's just the help. Just another faceless servant in the mass of other faceless servants who catered to the wealthy. So when they called her name in the reaping with barely a month until her 19th birthday, the world started to ask, "Who the hell is Felicity Smoak?"

She's waiting for her team to arrive and in the numbness she remembers her mother's muffled crying, her desperate grasp for Felicity's hand as Felicity walked towards the stage. A constant singular thought roves round and round her head. _Why hadn't a Career volunteered?_

Everyone in District One knew of the Careers. The Games were what they lived for and it only came once a year. So why did nobody raise their hand for her?

She had waited for it as she got up there on the stage, feet feeling like lead, her stomach even heavier. The seconds had ticked by and nothing. Just silence. She remembers the silence to be deafening, damning. _This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't be happening._

"Hey!"

She jerks out of her thoughts at the sound, her eyes glancing up and meeting piercing blue.

_Oliver Queen._ Victor of the 69th Hunger Games. Career, socialite, playboy, basically the epitome of a District One stereotype. At least he was before he became a complete media recluse after his victory. He is also now her brand new mentor.

His gruff voice seems to boom through the small apartment she and her mother shared. She also notices a slight slur. She confirms it when he crosses his arms and leers at her; the slight scent of alcohol wafting from him makes her wrinkle her nose.

"You're Felicity Smoak right?"

She doesn't answer, still too numb, too stunned. He takes her silence as the affirmative.

He hasn't shaved and his overgrown beard is too scruffy to look attractive, but she can't take her eyes away from him. He gives her a once over, eyebrows furrowing.

"You're even smaller than you look on TV," he declares. "Maybe when the other tributes kill you they can use your bones for broth." He reaches for her arm and that's when she snaps.

She yanks her hand back so hard she almost falls backwards. "Don't touch me."

His gaze looks more sober now. He stands up a bit straighter, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

"Seems like you're more of a fighter than I thought."

The numbness is wearing off and all that is left in Felicity is the anger, the injustice of it all. She didn't slave away at the beck and call of the Capitol's elites to get sentenced to this. There were supposed to be _Careers_. That had been the one perk of living in District One. They weren't supposed to let her become a tribute. She didn't fight tooth and nail for work in the Capitol for this to happen.

She bites back the burning tears that sting the back of her eyes and shoots a glare at her guest.

"Why?" is her simple question.

"Why?" Oliver repeats, condescension clear in his tone.

"I'm not a Career. Why me?"

Oliver shrugs nonchalantly. "Caesar says the Games needed more drama," he replies. "Having a Career represent District One was getting predictable."

His answer is a slap in the face. Drama. Her sentencing is just theatrics.

"I guess that's the reason why they wanted our first meeting to be here. Needed a change of setting compared to all the Careers' mansions and what not," he gestured to her humble abode and she feels her face flame and then berates herself for it. There's nothing for her to be ashamed of. _They're_the ones who should be ashamed.

"You're my mentor right? Where's the rest of my team?"

Oliver regards her silently, not needing to answer because suddenly her apartment door is banging open and a team of stylists and cameramen are parading into her much too cramped home. They coo and bob about like a bunch of pigeons, touching her face and hair. She lets them, but her steely gaze is still reserved for her mentor.

"Oh! We are so going to have to do something about your hair," one of the stylists proclaims. "Maybe let it down. The ponytail is so last season."

She brushes the woman's hand away and steps forward. "Let's not waste any time. I know how the Games work. I'll do whatever you say, I'll wear the dresses, the makeup, I'll say whatever you want me to." She turns to Oliver now. "But I don't plan to flavor anybody's _broth_so you better start teaching me how to survive."

Oliver's lips twitch just the tiniest bit. Felicity catches the sound of footsteps behind her and whirls around.

"Mom!" She's by her mother's side in seconds, whispering softly and ushering her mother away. She doesn't want her mother to witness them preparing her for the slaughter.

"Hey, wait a second! Let's get a quote from the mom about how she feels about the Games!" one of the stylists suggests.

"No," is Felicity's vehement reply.

"I thought you said you'd do whatever we want," Oliver responds, his tone cool and smooth. Felicity feels like there's a land mine beneath his words.

"It's not possible. She's an Avox," she says swiftly. The word, Avox, still comes out harshly, no matter how many times she practices it.

Silence immediately follows. She gives Oliver one last challenging glare before she turns her expression to her mother, softer now, and leads her back to her room. She tries not to think of what will happen to her mom once she's gone.

When she comes back out, the room is empty except for Oliver.

"Where's everyone?"

"I've sent them home."

"What? We need to get start-"

Oliver stands up and up close he is much larger than she previously thought. He towers over her, all muscle and solidness. At such close proximity she has no doubts that he is a Victor.

"We need to train you first. Physically. Like you said, you need to survive in there and right now with your…" He gives her another once over and this time Felicity feels a flush as his gaze rakes over her. "..._physique_, those chances are very slim." He's definitely lost the slur, she notices.

"Okay," she says simply.

He nods once. "A car will come to pick you up tomorrow morning. Be ready when it comes."

"Okay," she says again.

He looks at her one last time before disappearing out the door.

xxxx

The bravado wears off by the time she gets into the car and arrives at the Victor's house for training. The door is unlocked and she pushes her way in. Her calls of "_Hello? Anybody here? I'm supposed to be like… training or something…_" seems to echo much too loudly in the large halls. It makes her feels small, silly, pathetic. She'd gotten lost within five minutes of entering the enormous house. Not a good way to start.

"You're late!" His voice booms even louder here than it did in her small apartment and she flinches, casting her eyes upwards to the staircase.

He raises an eyebrow at her and suddenly it's like her throat had swollen up.

"I-I'm not late. I was waiting outside; I didn't know where I was supposed to go. There wasn't anyone out there and this place is kinda huge. I just went through the front door since it was open and got sorta lost and-"

A smirk graces his face and suddenly Felicity is reminded why he used to be the Capitol's darling. He'd groomed his facial hair this morning and rather than looking scruffy, he looks downright rugged now. If you're into that kind of thing. Felicity tells herself she's not.

"What are you wearing?" he asks with a wrinkle to his brow.

Felicity glances down at her simple gray shirt and pants. "Um, clothes? It was either this or a maid outfit. Which one would you have preferred?"

He shoots her another quirked eyebrow look.

"I mean - not that you would prefer anything! On me. I mean, you don't even- The maid outfit isn't even one of those sexy ones. It's just like a jumpsuit. I have a cocktail waitress uniform too. I don't think that's any better…"

She can't tell if he's fighting back a smile or a scream. Instead he says roughly, "You're not going to be able to train in that. Come on."

And without further putting her foot in her mouth, she follows him up the stairs.

xxxx

Training is hard. Oliver takes the whole "blood, sweat, and tears" saying much too literally and by the end of it Felicity is thoroughly sore in places she didn't even know one could get sore.

The training doesn't end on the mat either. After all the exercises she's sent to the stylists to pick a signature look, practice speaking in front of the camera without rambling, and learn to smile and smile and smile until her cheeks hurt. She meets her fellow tribute then. Roy Harper. He's everything she hates about the Capitol: chiseled jawline, handsome face, bundles of money. He's a Career of course. Oliver has them training alone most of the time except for when they need to be together for the cameras. She doesn't mind. Only one of them can survive this after all and she doesn't want to get to know Roy. She tells herself it'll be easier to survive when she doesn't know the person at the other end of her knife.

Of all things, she hates the fake smiling the most. How is she supposed to pretend she's happy that the Capitol has sentenced her to death? That the reaping might as well be an order for execution. How is she supposed to pretend to smile when all she wants to do is sink her teeth around President Snow's neck and rip out his jugular? Felicity is not usually a violent person, but she feels herself changing. She's not sure of what she's more afraid of: being killed in the Arena, or being a killer in the Arena.

A whole week and it doesn't feel enough, she thinks. The days tick by much too quickly. Even though Oliver tells her she's getting better, that she's a quick learner, she doesn't feel like it's enough.

She spends her nights tinkering with random scraps from the pile of supplies Oliver has predicted to be at the cornucopia. That's her specialty. She's a tinkerer. She doesn't know if her wits will be enough to survive. Not when she witnesses Roy throwing a spear a hundred feet away from a dummy and hitting the bull's eye. But then Oliver comes over and he claps his hand on her shoulder, says "You're going to be okay."

And she believes. She believes in him.

xxxx

Oliver rubs his hands over his face. The Victor's house is silent now. Both Roy and Felicity had gone home two hours prior. Tomorrow they'd be boarding the train to take them to the Tribute Arena.

He's startles, though he shouldn't have, when Amanda Waller, Head Game Mistress, wanders into his living room. He really should remember to lock his door.

"Started drinking early?" she comments, glancing at the glass of scotch besides Oliver's hand. "How goes the girl?"

"Smart," he replies, his voice a little slurred. "Smarter than any of us ever imagined. She blew out the lights in the mansion today," he says with an absent wave at the darkness they sat in. "She did it with a single spark plug and some wires."

Amanda glances around at the darkness and nods once, smirk on her face. "And here I thought the lack of lighting was just the result of your usual broodiness."

Oliver doesn't bother to register the jab.

"It's a wonder how she managed to slip under our radar for so long… how long she'd slipped under Snow's radar. He could've used her himself. Instead she's a maid. Did you know that? She worked as a _maid_."

"We both know she was no mere maid if any of her under the table dealings were any indication. Did you know she was originally from District Three? The Capitol rarely ever grant relocation between districts… ever wonder how a nobody like Felicity Smoak and her mother managed to do it? She hacked into the system, forged papers. She was just twelve at the time."

"She's just a girl," he says softly. "She rambles and her hands still shake when she fires a shot. She knows all the techniques, but she can't look me in the eye when she strikes. She even _thanks_ me at the end of the day. She won't survive."

"That's why there's Roy. He'll be there to protect her."

"You're okay with this? Are you really okay with this?" His voice is a whisper now, one that Amanda has to struggle to hear. He won't call Amanda a friend, but she's the next closest thing ever since Snow ordered the murder of his entire family, he has nobody left.

Oliver looks up at his guest. Amanda is, as always, cold and cool. She doesn't let a trace of emotion pass her face.

"We need her to take down the Game system internally. No one else can do it."

"We could have recruited her, we could have told her-"

"Who in their right mind would agree to any of this, Oliver? You think she would have left her mother voluntarily? You know we had no choice."

"We sentenced her the moment we rigged the reaping."

"We needed her to be _committed_. She too far in now to back out."

"Shouldn't she at least know? Shouldn't she have a _choice_?" the frustration leaked into Oliver's tone.

"Yes," Amanda replies smoothly. "In an ideal world, yes. But we don't live in an ideal world and that's why we need her."

Amanda picks up Oliver's glass and drains it.

"Make sure she's ready for tomorrow."

xxxx

Felicity is numb on the train. It feels like the day of the reaping all over again. Surreal and terrifying. Roy is as stoic and silent as ever and she almost wishes she had made an effort to know him beyond the stats that she'd memorized about all of the tributes. It would feel less lonely maybe. But that's just her being selfish. She can't think that way anymore. She can't afford to.

Being in District One, the Capitol's Arena should only an hour's train ride away, but the ride feels like an eternity. Her stylist is chattering on about something, but Felicity doesn't pay any attention. She glances up at Oliver and there's a tick to his jaw. He's started drinking again, she notices. There's a glass of something amber by his hand. He notices her gaze and empties the glass before getting up with a huff. She finds it funny that after all this he's the one who's emotional.

Suddenly Oliver is grabbing her by the hand. She barely musters a squeak before he hauls her up out of her seat, muttering a curt "Come with me" before leading her out of the train compartment, ignoring all the glances shot their way. His grip is firm on her wrist despite her protests and questions. He doesn't stop until they reach the engineering room at the end of the train.

"Oliver, what are-"

"They know."

She flinches at that, though she doesn't know what he means.

"They know about you, Felicity. They know you hacked into the Capitol's system to move yourself and your mom to District One. They know about your father. They know he was part of the original team that developed the Games system. They know."

Felicity feels like choking, her throat was closing up on her. "President Snow-"

"No," Oliver interrupts. "Not him. The rebellion."

Her head is spinning. "What? What does that even mean?"

"It means you're not here by coincidence, Felicity."

She stiffens and Oliver knows this is going to be the moment he is going to lose her. At the beginning of all this, when Amanda talked him out of his drunken stupor and rallied him to the cause, he never thought this little blonde girl would be the thing to cause him doubt. And he's already lost so much, he can't lose her too. But she has to know. He owes her that much.

"The Games are a distraction. Not just for the Districts, but for the Capitol. In order to run it they need a lot of energy, a lot of focus. Which means it's also when their security is the weakest. We have a team ready to take advantage of that. But what we needed was somebody on the inside to help us dismantle the system. Someone with your technological caliber. It had to be from the inside. That's why… that's why no Career volunteered for your place."

The implications of his words strike her like a ton of bricks. She feels her knees weakening and she stumbles backwards until her back hits the wall. She resists sliding down it and breaking down. Not here, not now, not right before she enters the Arena.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because it might be too late to get you out of the Games… but you should have a choice about what else you're getting into. You can survive the Games, Felicity. I've trained you well enough to know that you could do it. The Games are brutal, but there are rules. There's a certain kind of mercy in that. But if you decide to join us… if you join the rebellion… there's only one way that ends. This would be a one way trip. And it wasn't fair to put you in this situation, but I'm giving you the choice now, the only way I know how. You don't have to help us. God knows we don't deserve it."

"What… what about Roy?"

Of course, after all he's confessed to her, she asks about the fate of the other boy instead of herself.

"He knows."

Felicity didn't know she could feel more surprised, but she does. Roy had known. He knew, everyone knew. Except for her.

"Roy volunteered… he's here to protect you. And he's willing to die to do it. That's how important you are."

Felicity stares at Oliver, the accusation clear in her eyes. He doesn't allow himself to look away. He needs to see it. He deserves it. Her mouth is set in a firm line and she looks away at him, finally, when she speaks.

"I'm in."

"Felicity, do you even realize what I'm-"

"You want to take down the Capitol right? I'll do it. I'll help."

He shakes his head. It's the answer he had wanted to hear, but actually hearing it is a different thing. He'd let his guard down. Allowed himself to care about this girl. He never thought he was capable of feeling that way about anybody anymore, not after what the Capitol had done, but there she is. A bundle of ferocity wrapped in a fragile pink and blonde package.

"Don't you get it? You… the reaping was _rigged_. We rigged it so that _you_would be reaped. Because we knew about your skills and we needed it. We needed it and without ever so much as asking, we tore you from your life. We sentenced you to almost certain death. Do you get that? Do you get that _I_ was a part of it?"

Oliver glances down and notices that Felicity had balled her hands into fists.

"I do get it, Oliver," she says through gritted teeth.

He sees her face now and he recognizes the fire there, the rage, the anger.

"Did I…" her voice breaks and she has to turn away and compose herself. " Did I ever tell you what happened to my mother?"

Oliver shakes his head mutely.

"When I was ten I ran my mouth in front of some Peacekeepers. I have this thing where I just can't shut up sometimes." She lets out a laugh, but there's no humor in it. "They didn't take too kindly to what I said. I can't even remember what it was."

She pauses for a shaky breath before meeting Oliver's eyes again.

"It should've been me," she continues. "But I was just ten and my mother begged them to take her instead. They did. When it was over, the man that tore out my mother's tongue looked at me and smiled. He said, 'There, you see? I _can_be merciful.' If that is the Capitol's mercy then I don't want any of it. So yes, I'll do it. I'll help you burn them to the ground."

Oliver doesn't have any words to say to that.

"I'll do it," Felicity declares over the roar of the engine. "I'll help you." She straightens then, turning to leave. Before she does she looks back at him one more time. "But that doesn't mean I forgive you."

And she shuts the door on him.

xxxx

In a darkened room Amanda Waller plays the video of Felicity and Oliver over and over again.

_"If that is the Capitol's mercy then I don't want any of it. So yes, I'll do it. I'll help you burn them to the ground."_

Another figure stands behind her.

"You manipulated Oliver," the man says.

Amanda smiles thinly. "What? Have you gotten soft, Walter?"

Walter Steele folds his arms over his chest. "I don't mean to be either hard or soft. I just do what has to be done."

"Then we share the same sentiment. I knew Felicity would never agree to help us out of her own accord, that's why we rigged the reaping. And I knew she wouldn't take kindly to that so we needed to build her trust. That was Oliver's job. The fact that he revealed the plans to her early… that only helped enforce her trust in him."

Walter twitched an eyebrow. "Haven't you seen the end of that video? Did you not hear her last words?"

Amanda shrugs. "She's angry, but she wouldn't have said yes if she didn't trust Oliver to help her survive, at least long enough to complete our mission. She has the fire. She's exactly what we need."

"He cares about her you know. Did you anticipate that as well? Or do you not know the word?"

"I _care_," Amanda states, her tone wavering just the tiniest bit. "I care about all of them. Not just Felicity Smoak, but _all_ the tributes. All of the children who are sent to their deaths every. single. year. That's why we must do what we do."

"Then what about them?" Walter says, gesturing to the screen displaying Felicity and Oliver, frozen in place.

"They get to make history," Amanda replies. "Or they get to die trying."

xxxx

Towards the end, Roy dies in her arms. Before he does she asks him what his favorite color is. He tells her it's red. She holds onto that little piece of knowledge, locks it into her memory so that he would die knowing that somebody out there knew at least that little bit about him. It helps her carry on.

She's still waiting for Oliver's cue. Waiting for that signal before she can blow everything to hell. All that tinkering in training, they'd been preparing her for this very mission all along. She has what she needs, Oliver has made sure of that. Each time the parachute floats down she knows it's his silent way of apology. She knows she can't possibly have this many sponsors to get all that she needs and that he must be spending cash out of his own pocket to somehow arrange all this. But she can't stand the sight of the parachutes. Can't stand that they cut her more deeply than the knife wound she got from the tribute from District Six.

She's lost track of the number of days in the Arena, only that she's alone now and that there are still four other tributes left. Four potential deaths. It's either them or her and she knows she can't die. Not without taking the Capitol down with her. But she doesn't know if she can be a killer either. Oliver lied to her (but that's not new news), she wasn't ready. She would never be ready. She still isn't when it finally happens. She had rigged an electrical trap in nearest fresh water supply. Three tributes now. One death on her hands. She's sick after.

She's feverish, she knows. She feels it in the way her feet drags, the way her head seems to float above her body, the way her hands won't stop shaking. How ironic if she dies this way. After all that struggle, after everything Oliver did to try to help her survive (even if it was just for the mission), it would be such a waste. On the third day she gets a parachute with the antibiotics she needs and she cries because she had been ready to give up and even if she hates him, she can't deny that Oliver Queen has saved her life. She murmurs a thank you and she hopes that somewhere there's a camera out there that catches it and Oliver sees.

When the signal comes, finally, she's tired and battered and very nearly beaten. But this is what she's here for and she's ready for it. The moment is here. She knows what she has to do. She's so close, she can feel it.

She doesn't anticipate the axe in the back by a tribute from District Seven.

xxxx

Oliver watches the axe sink into Felicity's back on a screen in the middle of the Mentors' lounge. They zoom in on her and he can hear the Capitol's dogs "Ohh" and "Ahh" over it, placing their bets on her time of death. It makes him want to scream.

_No no no no no._

Amanda has contingency plans, but Oliver never had one for the way his heart breaks at the sight of blood dribbling out of her mouth. He had groomed her for this. Groomed her for her death.

"Is the cannon going to go off yet or not? Come on, she's clearly on her last leg. She had a good run though. Who would've thought."

He very nearly throttles the man beside him. Movement on the screen distracts him.

Felicity is up. She's bleeding to death, but she's standing. And she's in position.

He doesn't know how she does it, but she's hijacked the cameras in the Arena. Suddenly every single TV screen is filled with her face. Her glasses are cracked, her cheek's bleeding, and there's a bruise right above her left eye, but there's also smile to her lips. And for a moment it's like she's looking at him. And it feels like his heart is shredding into pieces all over again.

"_Oliver_." That's all she says, tears leaking down her face.

There are tears streaming down his too. She doesn't have to specify, he can hear it by the way her mouth curls around his name. But he doesn't want to be forgiven. He just wants to see her again.

Her eyes steel and the change is instantaneous. She's not looking at him anymore. She's looking beyond now. She's looking at Panem.

"President Snow," she says, and he can hear the strain, he can hear the triumph too. "Mazel tov."

And the screens all go white.

xxxx

When Felicity Smoak opens her eyes, the war is already over. She blinked and the world changed. Oliver is beside her, he looks older than she remembers, but then again she doesn't know how long she'd been asleep.

"A year," he says.

A year… She can't wrap her mind around it. She glances down and notices that she can't feel her feet. She doesn't need the doctor's lengthy explanation about spinal cord injuries to know that she won't ever be able to walk again.

Her mother is okay. For that, Felicity feels like everything is worth it. They hug and cry and Felicity writes the words "I Love You" over and over again across her mother's back, imprinting it onto her mother's skin.

The Capitol is gone, its power stripped by the virus that Felicity had released into the system. With the malfunctions the entire system collapsed on itself, credit banks wiped clean, databases corrupted. The people in power didn't know what to do with themselves. The rebellion did the rest.

The Capitol is gone, but they have to rebuild now.

Felicity spends her time helping to create a new system. They think she's the perfect one for the job because she's the one that destroyed the old one. It helps her take her mind away from the ache that still radiates from the scar on her back.

Oliver is by her side the entire time. She tells him time and time again that she's forgiven him, that without him she never would've survived at all, that she owes him her life. He should consider it a debt paid. It doesn't stop him from hovering.

Amanda sends Oliver to District Twelve to deal with a mine problem. Being so far away from resources, it's the District that needs the most rebuilding. He goes, but only because Felicity tells him to. She needs the space anyway. She regrets it almost immediately the moment he's actually gone.

She doesn't hear from Oliver for two weeks. Two weeks then turns into a month. And then it becomes two months. She realizes, with devastating clarity, that she is in love with him during the absence.

When he finally comes back he comes back on a hospital gurney. She remembers getting blown up in the Arena being less painful than the sight of him on the operating table. When he finally comes to, she's by his side.

"What happened?"

"Mine collapsed," she says. She had practiced saying this to make sure her voice is even, calm, so he doesn't fret. She's not sure if she delivered.

"I… I think I remember. The others-"

"They're okay," she says. He'd managed to get three others out before the whole thing came down.

"Felicity?" His voice is soft, but she could feel the tremor in it. "Why can't I lift my arm?"

And Felicity couldn't hold back the tears. The doctors had saved Oliver's life, but they couldn't save his arm.

Somehow he ends up the one who comforts her, shushing her softly as she sobs onto his hospital gown.

"It's okay."

"It's not."

"I was supposed to die in the Arena a long time ago," he says.

She looks up at him then. According to that logic, she was supposed to die in the Arena too, but he hadn't let her. She shakes her head and wipes away at her tears.

"No. You're a survivor, _we're_survivors. It's okay. We'll get through this."

He laughs a little. "That's what I said."

She squeezes his hand and lays her head down on his chest. He sighs and moves to put his other arm around her, but stops short when he remembers.

"I only wish I hugged you more when I could," he says, his breath tickling her ear.

She wraps both her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. "It's okay. I'll hug enough for the both of us."

And it really is okay. They're a little broken, but they'll be okay. The Games couldn't break them, so nothing else would.


End file.
